Ill,  JR.  A. 


0J% 


m 


^.  5.  ii 


JSS^ 


S.'t^ 


^im^^ta^imt^^ 


%: 


PRINCETON,  N.  J. 


*A 


^^ 


Presented   by    A .  Gr.  CovTine^onaj  "P'W.Ij 


BV  3705  .L599  M4  1870 

Memorial  of  Mrs.  Mary  K. 

Lowrie 

iW^"'^:'^ 


m 


■>:-'i'C*' 


'm' 


:MM 


*     APR  8   1911    * 

ME  MORI  A^t^'il'lV^ 


MRS.    MARY    K.    LOWRIE 


^rinteb  for  ^ribdc  gistributioii. 


NEW   YORK 

1S70. 


NOTE. 

npHE  original  thought  of  this  Memorial  was  simply  to  give  some 
account  of  the  last  days  of  Mrs.  Lowrie,  for  the  satisfaction  of 
her  numerous  friends  to  whom  it  was  impossible  to  write  individually. 
At  the  earnest  desire  of  many  of  these,  the  plan  was  extended  to  embrace 
a  brief  sketch  of  her  life.  It  is  but  a  sketch,  in  which,  of  necessity, 
much  has  been  omitted  that  would  have  been  of  interest  in  reference 
both  to  herself  and  to  those  with  whom,  at  different  times,  she  was 
associated. 


MEMORIAL. 


A  T  the  foot  of  the  mountain  range  that  forms 
the  eastern  boundary  of  the  valley  of  the 
Connecticut,  as  this  most  beautiful  of  the  rivers 
of  New  England  flows  through  the  southern  part 
of  Massachusetts,  lies  the  town  of  Wilbraham, 
originally  a  part  of  Springfield.  The  place 
itself  with  its  one  broad  street,  its  substantial 
dwellings,  its  plain  but  not  unattractive  churches, 
its  school-houses,  and  its  broad  farms,  is  a  not 
unfavorable  representative  of  the  many  villages 
scattered  all  over  New  England,  and  which  so 
impress  and  delight  the  traveller.  From  the 
mountain  that  rises  on  the  east  of  the  town,  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  panoramic  views  of  the 
Connecticut  Valley  is  obtained.  For  miles  west 
and  north  and  south  stretches  a  scene  of  wonder- 
ful beauty  and  loveliness. 


Here,  on  the  loth  of  March,  1813,  the  subject 
of  this  Memorial  was  born.  It  was  the  home  of 
her  maternal  ancestors.  While  she  was  3^et  an 
infant,  her  parents — Joshua  and  Susan  King 
Childs  —  removed  to  Springfield,  where  she  re- 
sided until  her  nineteenth  year. 

It  is  difficult  to  describe  her  character,  in 
strictest  truth,  without  an  appearance  of  exagger- 
ation. With  a  mind  that  easily  acquired  and 
retained  knowledge,  and  with  a  marked  and 
decided  individuality  even  in  childhood,  a  lead- 
ing characteristic  of  her  early  as  of  her  later 
years  was  the  exceeding  loveliness  of  her  dis- 
position. Connected  with  this  was  the  cheerful 
fidelity  with  which  she  met  and  fulfilled,  at  any 
sacrifice,  the  duties  of  every  relation.  As  a 
child,  a  sister,  a  pupil,  a  friend,  it  is  believed 
she  was  as  blameless  as  it  has  ever  been  given 
one  to  be. 

Nothing  could  exceed  her  filial  tenderness ; 
and  the  home  that  her  infancy  gladdened,  her 
maturer  life  never  failed  to  bless.  As  a  sister, 
she  was  from  childhood  to  her  death  the  object 
of  a  love,  a  confidence,  and  a  reverence  as  strong 
as  they  were  spontaneous  and  irresistible.  Her 
wish  was  law,  because  it  was  always  the  wish 
of  wisdom  and  of  love. 


Mary  was  early  the  subject  of  religious  influ- 
ences. Parental  faith  and  prayer  and  instruction 
were  combined  with  an  example  whose  power 
could  not  fail  to  be  recognized  and  felt  by  all  who 
came  under  it.  It  was  not  far  from  the  time  when 
the  churches  of  Massachusetts  had  been  shaken 
by  the  Unitarian  controversy.  Her  mother  had 
united  with  the  First  Congregational  Church  of 
Springfield,  the  former  pastor  of  which  had  em- 
braced the  Unitarian  views.  The  pastor  at  this 
time  was  the  Rev.  Samuel  Osgood,  through 
whose  instrumentality,  under  God,  the  Church 
was  saved  to  the  evangelical  faith.  With  this 
Church  Mary  united  in  May,  1827,  when  she  was 
a  little  more  than  fourteen  years  of  age.  To  the 
Church,  as  well  as  to  its  beloved  pastor,  she  ever 
retained  a  strong  attachment. 

Her  studies  were  carried  on  with  such  advan- 
tages of  public  and  private  schools  as  the  place 
then  aftbrded.  At  fifteen  years  of  age  she 
opened  a  small  private  school  of  her  own,  which 
she  conducted  with  such  success  as  to  attract  at 
once  attention  to  her  qualifications  as  an  instruc- 
tor, and  she  was  soon  engaged  in  a  wider  sphere. 
At  eighteen  she  received  an  invitation  to  a  posi- 
tion in  a  private  school  for  young  ladies  in  the 
city  of  Washington,  D.C.     This   invitation   she 


accepted ;    and  it  decided,  in  the  providence  of 
God,  her  whole  future  history. 

In  Washington  she  first  met  him  with  whose 
life  and  labors  her  own  were  soon  to  be  merged. 
Mr.  Lowrie  was  at  that  time  the  Secretary  of  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States.  They  were  mar- 
ried by  her  pastor,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Osgood,  in 
Springfield,  Massachusetts,  on  the  3d  of  October, 
1833. 

LIFE    IN    WASHINGTON. 

Her  position  and  duties  were  now  changed, 
but  they  effected  no  change  in  her  character. 
The  same  quiet  self-possession  and  dignity,  with 
unaffected  simplicity,  gentleness,  and  joyous  love, 
marked  her  life  whether  she  moved  in  the  circles 
of  Washington,  then  brilliant  with  the  intellect 
of  Webster  and  Clay  and  Calhoun,  or  wandered, 
as  she  loved  to  do  in  her  seasons  of  rest,  with 
the  friends  of  her  childhood  over  the  fields  and 
mountains  of  her  native  place. 

The  object  of  this  Memorial  —  designed  only 
for  personal  friends  —  will  more  than  justify  here 
the  testimony  of  one  who  from  this  period  sus- 
tained to  Mrs.  Lowrie  a  relation  of  the  most 
tender  mutual  affection  ;  an  affection  strengthened 


by  every  passing  year,  and  never  stronger  than 
when  its  offices  were  for  a  season  arrested  by 
death  : 

"  My  first  impressions  of  my  dear  mother,  formed 
when  I  was  a  boy  ten  years  old,  are  most  pleasant. 
Although  many  years  have  elapsed  since  that  time, 
I  still  see  her  bright  and  sunny  face,  as  she  greeted 
my  younger  brother  and  myself  in  our  new  house  in 
C  Street,  Washington  City.  Her  gentle  manners  and 
kindly  care,  her  ready  sympathy  with  our  little  griefs 
and  joys,  won  our  hearts.  I  loved  her  then  because 
she  made  my  early  years  happy ;  and  through  all  the 
intercourse  of  school,  college,  and  home  life,  I  cannot 
recall  one  unkind  look  or  word  on  her  part.  She  was 
in  every  sense  of  the  word  to  me  a  mother.  I  yet  feel 
her  sweet  good-night,  her  kindly  morning  welcome. 
I  never  can  forget  her  faithful  Sabbath  talks,  and  her 
persevering  work  in  instilling  '  line  upon  line,  pre- 
cept upon  precept,'  of  whatever  of  truth  and  love  of 
integrity  and  purity,  can  be  imparted  by  motherly 
solicitude  into  the  wayward  heart  of  a  boy.  Thirty- 
six  years  of  unselfish  love  !  How  pleasant  the  memory 
of  her  tender  regard  for  me  even  in  my  faults  !  How 
lively  her  solicitude  that  I  should  be  happy  and  good  ! 
How  lovingly  she  rejoiced  in  my  joys,  and  sympathized 
with  my  cares  and  sorrows  ! 

"  For  some  months  my  brother  and  myself  recited 
daily  lessons  to  her,  and  she  proved  herself  to  be  an 
apt  and  faithful  teacher.  She  had  a  form  of  rewards 
—  her  own  beautiful  handiwork  —  which  we  prized 
beyond  measure.     These  pleasant  hours  of  home  in- 


8 


struction  soon  yielded  to  the  demands  on  her  time 
made  by  the  declining  health  of  our  sister  Eliza. 
Beautiful,  gifted  and  accomplished  beyond  her  years, 
she  returned  from  school  to  our  father's  house  in 
feeble  health,  to  find  in  our  mother  the  care  and  sym- 
pathy, kindly  and  tenderly  offered,  which  her  case  so 
much  needed.  It  was  our  father's  custom  to  spend 
the  summer  months  of  each  year  in  his  old  home  in 
Butler,  Pennsylvania.  This  was  before  the  days  of 
railway  travel,  and  the  journey  was  accomplished  in  a 
light  carriage  in  easy  stages  of  twenty-five  to  thirty- 
miles,  occupying  from  two  to  three  weeks.  We  all 
enjoyed  the  crossing  the  mountains,  and  we  hoped 
much  for  prolonged  life  to  our  sister  from  such  a 
journey  extended  to  Niagara  Falls.  I  still  recall  the 
sad  face  of  my  mother,  and  the  touching  patience  of 
my  invalid  sister,  supported  in  my  dear  mother's  arms 
during  the  last  few  days  of  that  long  journey.  She 
died  within  a  few  days  after  we  returned  home. 

"  My  brother  Walter,  who  in  after  years  became  a 
missionary,  derived  a  very  large  share  of  his  enjoy- 
ment of  life  from  her  love.  His  letters  to  her,  many 
of  them  published  in  his  Memoir,  and  his  journals,  are 
the  beautiful  evidence  of  deep,  warm-hearted  affection 
for  her.  Indeed,  in  our  home  life  we  all  loved  her. 
Her  domestics,  during  a  long  series  of  years,  were 
seldom  changed  ;  once  in  her  home,  it  became  theirs, 
and  they  identified  themselves  with  the  family.  Some 
of  them  were  hopefully  converted  while  in  her  service. 
An  economist  in  all  the  details  of  household  expenses, 
of  living,  clothing,  furniture,  &c.,  from  principle, — 
that  more  might  be  given  to  the  Lord, —  she  yet  made 


home  attractive  in  its  old-fashioned  but  true  simpHcity. 
With  an  exquisite  taste  for  the  beautiful  in  art  and  in 
nature,  it  was  a  marvel  how  mucli  of  beauty  and  com- 
fort she  gathered  around  her  at  a  mere  trifle  of  ex- 
penditure. Her  beautiful  shells  and  novelties  of  foreign 
art  came  to  her  from  distant  mission  stations,  in  kindly 
recognition  of  personal  favors  received  at  her  hands. 
Every  picture  and  book  told  a  story  of  loving  remem- 
brance. 

"  To  my  honored  father  she  was  '  the  prudent  wife 
from  the  Lord,'  in  whom  he  reposed  entire  confidence. 
She  cordially  sympathized  with  the  great  object  of  his 
life's  labors.  She  was  his  counsellor  and  his  tender 
comforter  in  sickness  and  in  sorrow.  He  rested  in  her 
love.  She  was  indeed  a  helpmeet  for  him,  in  labor 
and  in  responsibility.  Her  manner  toward  him  was 
beautiful,  ever  loving  and  gentle,  yet  full  of  vivacity 
and  cheerfulness.  She  revered  his  noble  aspirations 
for  good,  thoroughly  appreciated  his  sacrifices  of 
worldly  interests  in  his  entire  consecration  to  the  cause 
of  Foreign  Missions,  and  loved  him  all  the  more  be- 
cause he  was  so  unselfish  and  great  in  his  quiet  sim- 
plicity of  character.  I  have  never  seen  a  happier 
married  life  than  was  theirs.  Knowing  how  depend- 
ent my  fother  was  on  her  tender  care,  in  his  frequent 
attacks  of  illness,  she  had  made  it  the  subject  of 
prayer  that  she  might  survive  him,  so  that  his  last 
hours  might  be  cheered  by  her  love.  This  prayer 
was  answered." 

No  one  familiar  with  the  family  life  here 
brought  to  view  need  be  told   how  tender  and 


lO 


deep  were  the  respect  and  affection  Mrs.  Lowrie 
received  from  those  to  whom  she  bore  the  rela- 
tion of  mother ;  nor  with  what  sincere  and  un- 
changing love  these  feelings  were  returned. 

Of  her  life  in  Washington  we  are  now  able  to 
gather  few  details.  A  younger  and  only  sister 
had  made  her  home  with  her,  and  was  an  inmate 
of  the  family  while  they  remained  in  Washing- 
ton. To  this  sister,  —  not  inferior  to  herself  in 
many  of  the  quiet  and  substantial  traits  of  her 
character,  —  as  well  as  to  her  children  afterwards, 
Mrs.  Lowrie's  heart  was  bound  by  the  strongest 
ties.  She  could  hardly  have  loved  them  more 
if  they  had  been  her  own  children ;  and  when 
the  circle  was  broken,  and  one  after  another 
of  its  dear  members  was  removed  by  death, 
none  felt  the  successive  strokes  more  keenly 
than  she. 

One  who  remains  from  that  smitten  group 
writes  : 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  have  shrunk  from  attempt- 
ing to  express  my  recollections  of  my  dear  aunt  Mary  : 
I  feel  that  any  account  that  I  might  give  would  be  so 
unworthy  of  her.  Indeed,  hers  was  a  character  of 
such  beautiful  roundness,  that  it  is  hard  to  recall  any 
striking  points.  If  there  was  one  thing  about  her, 
however,  which  has  impressed  me  more  than  another, 


II 


from  a  child,  it  was  the  illustration  which  her  life 
afforded  of  the  truth  that  '  godliness  hath  the  promise 
of  the  life  that  now  is  ; '  for,  as  she  was  one  of  the 
most  practical  Christians,  so  she  was  one  of  the  most 
uniformly  cheerful  and  happy  persons  that  I  ever 
knew  ;  and  she  seemed  to  radiate  happiness  as  natu- 
rally as  the  sun  his  light.  From  my  earliest  infancy, 
to  be  with  her  was  happiness  enough  for  me,  and  I 
always  preferred  her  society  to  that  of  any  play- 
mates of  my  own  age  ;  and  in  the  most  frivolous 
days  of  my  youth  I  was  always  ready  to  forego 
any  worldly  amusement  for  the  sake  of  an  evening 
with  her. 

''  I  do  not  think  that  I  ever  knew  any  one  who 
made  religion  so  attractive  to  every  one  with  whom 
she  came  in  contact,  to  the  young  and  to  the  old,  and 
that  in  such  a  quiet,  unobtrusive  way  ;  for  you  never 
saw  her  religion  as  a  thing  apart,  a  thing  to  be  re- 
marked upon  :  it  was  just  the  controlling  principle  of 
all  her  life  and  the  spring  of  all  her  happiness.  How 
many  have  been  attracted  to  the  Saviour  by  the 
'  beauty  of  holiness '  as  it  shone  out  in  her  life,  the 
light  of  eternity  alone  can  show. 

"  I  know  that  she  always  loved  us  with  a  mother's 
love,  for  she  showed  it  in  every  possible  way ;  and 
most  sincerely  do  we  mourn  her  loss." 

Occupied  with  his  public  duties,  Mr.  Lowrie 
gave  the  care  of  his  household  almost  entirely  into 
the  hands  of  his  wife.  Their  home  was  ever  the 
centre  of  sacred  and  happy  influences.     No  one 


12 


could  be  in  it  without  realizing  that  it  was  a 
home  whose  character  was  not  made  by  ex- 
ternal circumstances.  Mr.  Lowrie  never  failed 
to  recognize  the  claims  of  his  Divine  Master 
as  higher  than  all  others.  Beyond  any  man 
the  writer  ever  knew,  he  was  indifferent  to  all 
human  opinion,  if  it  conflicted  with  his  views 
of  his  duty  to  Christ.  At  the  crowded  table  of 
the  President  of  the  United  States,  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  be  alone  in  refusing  those  indulgences 
which  his  conscience  condemned. 

He  could  sacrifice  any  political  friendship  or 
prospect,  but  he  would  not  sacrifice  a  Christian 
principle.  His  inflexible  integrity,  his  thorough 
purity,  his  solid  judgment,  won  from  Daniel 
Webster  the  enthusiastic  declaration  that  — 
though  of  opposite  political  views  —  if  he  were 
ever  President  of  the  United  States,  Walter 
Lowrie  should  be  the  Secretary  of  the  Trea- 
sury. 

It  is  believed  that  it  was  at  Mr.  Lowrie's  house 
in  C  Street,  Washington,  that  the  first  Congres- 
sional prayer-meeting  was  held.  It  is  certain 
that  the  meetings  were  continued  there  for  some 
time. 

They  were  at  first  confined  to  the  members 
of  Congress    themselves ;    but   were    afterwards 


13 


opened  to  their  families.  Of  these  meetings 
Mrs.  Lowrie  used  to  speak  with  interest.  She 
was  probably  the  last  survivor  of  those  who 
attended  them  then. 


LIFE   IN   NEW  YORK. 

In  1836  Mr.  Lowrie  resigned  his  place  in  the 
Senate  to  take  direction  of  the  work  of  Foreign 
Missions,  upon  which  the  Presbyterian  Church 
as  a  body  was  then  entering.  The  change  w^as 
made  with  great  sacrifice  of  worldly  advantages, 
but  without  regret  or  hesitation,  when  the  way 
of  duty  and  of  usefulness  was  made  plain.  The 
family  removed  from  Washington  to  New  York, 
and  Mrs.  Lowrie's  life  was  henceforth  identified 
with  the  work  of  Foreign  Missions.  How  well 
she  fulfilled  her  part  in  that  work  need  not  be 
told.  The  powers  of  her  mind  and  body  were 
consecrated  to  it.  For  years  their  house  was 
the  home  of  the  missionaries  going  out  or 
returning ;  and  every  missionary  seemed  to  be- 
come a  personal  friend  in  whose  welfare  she 
ever  after  retained  an  interest,  and  for  whom 
she  was  ready  to  render  any  service  to  which 
she   might   be    called.     None    but    members    of 


H 


her  own  family  could  know  the  amount  of  labor 
she  performed  for  missionaries  in  the  field,  as 
well  as  for  those  preparing  to  go,  and  those 
returning  after  years  of  absence. 

In  the  early  period  of  the  work  especially, 
it  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  two  or  three 
families  to  be  guests  together  at  Mr.  Lowrie's. 

The  chief  care  of  this  came  upon  Mrs. 
Lowrie,  and  most  cheerfully  was  it  met.  The 
most  crowded  house  never  disturbed  her  equa- 
nimity. The  most  perplexing  circumstances  never 
seemed  to  annoy  her,  or  to  interfere  with  the 
perfect  order  and  peace  of  her  household. 

It  is  true  she  never  m.ade  any  essential  change 
in  her  arrangements,  or  went  to  any  unnecessary 
trouble  for  her  guests.  Her  house  was  open,  and 
they  were  welcome.  Whatever  she  had  to  give 
was  given  freely.  Whatever  she  could  do  was 
done  so  gladly  that  we  venture  the  assertion 
that  none  ever  enjoyed  the  hospitality  of  that 
home  without  feeling  that  it  was  a  mutual 
pleasure. 

One  who  knew  her  under  such  circumstances 
writes  : 

"  It  was  at  their  house  in  New  York  that  we  first 
became  acquainted  with,  and  learned  to  love  and 
esteem,  dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lowrie.     You  remember 


IS 


the  time  perhaps,  twenty-six  years  ago,  when  Mr.  W. 
and  myself,  having  just  parted  with  home  and  relatives, 
were  detained  in  New  York  for  many  weeks,  there 
being  at  the  time  no  ship  to  take  us  East.  It  was 
then  and  there  that  we  saw  R.  and  yourself  at  study 
around  the  table  after  tea,  in  the  evening.  Under  the 
circumstances,  we  felt  that  our  sojourn  with  these  dear, 
kind  friends  was  particularly  pleasant  and  profitable. 
For  Mrs.  Lowrie,  who  was  to  me  a  mother,  sister, 
and  friend,  I  formed  an  attachment  very  strong,  and 
which  was  always  increased  by  visiting  her  and  cor- 
responding with  her.  .  .   . 

"  I  regret,  however,  to  say  that  the  many  letters 
I  received  from  her  while  we  remained  in  China, 
together  with  those  written  soon  after  our  return  to 
this  country,  owing  to  circumstances,  have  all  been 
destroyed.  The  war,  as  you  might  suppose,  inter- 
rupted our  correspondence  ;  but  as  soon  as  communi- 
cation was  again  restored,  she  was  among  the  first  to 
write,  and  offer  her  sympathies  in  our  afflictions ; 
manifesting,  as  ever,  a  heart  full  of  love  for  us,  and 
interest  in  us  and  ours.  My  recollections  of  her  are 
most  pleasant.  Possessed  of  so  much  dignity,  one 
could  not  but  respect  and  admire  her,  and  at  the  same 
time  love  and  esteem  her,  for  her  gentleness  and  deep- 
toned  piety.  Her  memory  will  ever  be  precious  to 
me,  and  I  trust,  ere  long,  to  be  permitted  to  join  her 
again  in  heaven." 

Few  ever  knew  the  labor  and  responsibility 
connected  with  the  work  to  which  Mr.  Lowrie 


i6 


was  called,  and  in  which  his  wife  bore  so  im- 
portant and  3^et  so  unseen  a  part.  One  who  was 
himself  intimately  associated  with  the  work 
says  : 

"  We  had  no  acquaintance  in  New  York  dearer  to 
us  than  jMrs.  Lowrie  ;  and,  now  that  she  is  gone,  none 
whose  memory  we  cherish  with  more  heart-felt  fond- 
ness. Her  meek,  quiet,  gentle,  cheerful,  and  agree- 
able Christian  temper  always  exerted  a  powerful 
influence  over  my  own  feelings  ;  and  I  do  not  know 
that  I  ever  left  her  quiet  mansion,  even  In  times  of  the 
greatest  anxiet}',  without  being  comforted  and  en- 
couraged in  the  arduous  work  that  had  been  assigned 
us.  To  ^Ir.  Lowrie  I  feel  very  much  Indebted  for  all 
practical  wisdom  I  may  possess  In  directing  the  mis- 
sionary aflairs  of  the  Church  :  but  questions  were  con- 
stantly arising  that  required  all  the  delicacy  of  woman's 
intuitive  perceptions  to  discern  and  settle  ;  and  In  all 
such  cases  I  could  rely  upon  INIrs.  Lowrle's  judgment 
and  good  sense  with  almost  Implicit  confidence.  It 
was  a  great  comfort  for  me  to  be  assured  by  her  that 
I  was  remembered  by  her  dear  husband  to  the  last 
with  all  the  regard  of  former  years.  ISIr.  Lowrie  was 
undoubtedly  one  of  the  great  men  of  the  generation  that 
is  passing  away." 

It  was  not  in  labor  alone  that  the  interest  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lowrie  in  the  cause  of  Christ 
among  the  heathen  was  shown.  They  had  con- 
secrated themselves  to  the  work.     Nothing  that 


17 


they  had  to  offer  was  held  back.  From  their 
home  in  New  York  two  sons  went  forth  to  toil 
and  die  for  their  Master  in  China.  In  these 
sacrifices  Mrs.  Lowrie  bore  her  full  share. 

The  strong  attachment  between  her  and  those 
to  whom  she  had  taken  the  relation  of  mother 
has  already  been  noticed.  If  any  confirmation 
of  this  were  needed,  it  may  be  found  abundantly 
in  the  published  letters  of  *one  whose  early  mar- 
tyrdom, on  the  threshold  of  perhaps  as  brilliant 
and  promising  a  life  as  ever  went  out  amid  the 
darkness  of  heathenism,  was  mourned  by  the 
w^hole  Church. 

The  Rev.  Walter  M.  Lowrie  writes  from 
Manilla,   Sept.  6,   1842  : 

"  Mv  Dear  jMotheU,  —  When  m}' journal  comes 
to  hand,  which  I  hope  it  will  before  very  long,  you 
will  have  a  fuller  account  of  the  various  adventures 
and  hair-breadth  escapes  of  the  voyage  from  Alacao  to 
this  place.  It  is  rough  and  uncouth  in  many  ways ; 
but  it  has  been  a  companion  to  me  in  loneliness  and 
in  dangers  and  in  pleasures.  It  made  me  think  of 
home  and  of  friends  when  the  storm  howled  around 
me,  and  the  billows  tossed  our  ship  as  if  they  would 
overwhelm  her  and  us  in  the  black  gulf  beneath  us. 
It  made  me  think  of  home,  too,  in  the  calm  sunset 
hour  at  sea,  and  it  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes  more 
than  once,  as  the  quiet  hours  of  the  Saturday  and  the 


i8 


Sabbath  closed  around  me.  I  have  laughed  over 
some  of  its  little  tales,  and  wept  over  others,  and  in- 
sensibly it  grew  like  a  friend  in  whose  w^elfare  I  was 
deeply  interested  ;  and  when  I  sat  in  my  silent  cabin, 
and  was  sorrowful  that  I  had  no  friend  to  feel  for 
me  or  sympathize  with  me  in  my  solitude,  I  laid  my 
hand  upon  its  pages,  and  said,  '  Wait  awhile  ;  when 
she  to  whom  it  is  addressed  has  read  it,  I  shall  lack 
no  sympathy,'  and  the  very  anticipation  relieved  me. 
Thus  though  in  itself  it  has  small  merit,  yet  its  associ- 
ations and  nameless  influences  give  it  a  value  in  my 
eyes  that  I  trust  will  not  be  wholly  wanting  with  you." 

Again  he  writes  from  Macao,  May  14,  1843  : 

"Dear  Mother,  —  I  cannot  express  my  thanks 
to  you  sufficiently  for  that  letter.  You  seemed  to  fear 
that  it  would  aftbrd  me  little  gratification  ;  but  it  has 
been  the  most  interesting  letter  I  have  yet  received 
from  you. 

"  I  like  '  news '  very  w^ell ;  but  I  like  kind  w^ords 
and  warm  expressions  of  affection  a  great  deal  better, 
when  I  knozu  that  they  come  unstudied  from  the  heart. 
I  cannot  describe  to  you  how  much  I  value  such  a 
sentence  as  '  It  is  past  nine  o'clock,  and  all  are  waiting 
for  me  for  prayers,  where  we  always  remember  him  in 
^foreign  land.'  It  brought  the  warm  tears  to  my  eyes 
(I  can  hardly  see  now);  pictured  before  me  —  oh, 
how  distinctly  !  —  the  scenes  of  other  days,  when  I  too 
knelt  with  you,  and  when  my  voice  was  heard  among 
you.  I  could  see  again  the  quiet  room  with  its  cheer- 
ful fire,  and  the  table  with  its  well-remembered  cover 


19 


and  lamp,  and  the  family  Bible  with  its  broken  bind- 
ing, and  each  fiimiliar  face,  aye,  and  the  accustomed 
seat  in  which  each  one  sat.  I  could  hear  the  voice 
that  read  ;  I  almost  fancied  I  could  join  in  the  familiar 
tune  that  was  sung ;  and  so  I  can^  though  separated 
from  you  by  half  the  circumference  of  the  world. 
The  praises  we  sing,  though  sung  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  globe,  ascend  to  the  same  gracious  God,  and  the 
prayers  we  offer  reach  the  same  mercy-seat,  and  the 
same  grace  that  sustains  you  is  sufficient — more  than 
sufficient  —  for  me." 

Of  the  home,  a  glimpse  of  which  is  here  given, 
the  writer  can  hardly  trust  himself  to  speak.  For 
years  his  own  home,  in  the  sacred  influences  of 
which  he  was  prepared  for  whatever  of  good  it 
may  have  been  given  him  to  do  here,  or  to  look 
forward  to  hereafter,  he  cannot  without  emotion 
recall  it  with  its  sweet  scenes,  or  realize  that  all 
its  dear  inmates  have  gone  out  to  return  no  more. 

This,  at  least,  he  may  say  with  the  calmest  de- 
liberation :  it  was  the  most  perfect  example  of  a 
Christian  home  that  it  was  ever  his  lot  to  know. 
Nor  is  he  alone  in  this  judgment.  Others  who 
have  been  for  a  season  under  that  roof,  have  left 
with  impressions  that  will  never  be  forgotten. 
Christians  have  been  strengthened  and  comforted. 
Those  without  a  Christian  hope  have  felt  the 
wonderful  power  and  beauty  of  a  living  holiness. 


20 


If  there  was  a  spot  on  earth  in  which  a  worn 
and  weary  and  troubled  soul  seemed  almost  un- 
consciously to  find  rest,  it  was  there. 

And  yet  there  was  never  the  least  show  of  piety. 
Neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Lowrie  was  in  the  habit  of 
speaking  much  of  personal  religious  feeling. 
Their  power  was  not  in  talking  of  religion,  but 
in  living  it.  It  was  their  whole  life,  the  life  of 
the  household,  the  life  of  Christ  in  it,  calm, 
cheerful,  happy,  self-sacrificing,  toiling,  invaria- 
bly consistent,  day  by  day,  and  year  by  year,  — 
it  was  this  that  made  that  home  always  as  the 
gate  of  heaven,  without  a  particle  of  gloom  or 
sanctimoniousness,  but  radiant  with  the  light  and 
peace  of  God. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  point  to  a  more  perfect 
and  happy  married  life.  The  arrangements  of 
the  household,  always  simple,  were  made  with 
an  order  that  left  the  day  free  for  every  duty. 
Undoubtedly  there  were  the  usual  perplexities  of 
a  family,  but  they  never  seemed  to  be  felt. 
There  was  no  jar ;  and  this  was  chiefly  due  to 
her  who  assumed  the  entire  charge  of  the  cares 
of  the  household  without  and  within,  that  her 
husband  might  be  left  free  from  interruption  in 
his  work.  Incessantly  and  laboriously  occupied 
at  his  office  during  the  day,  Mr.  Lowrie  always 


21 


found  a  cheerful  and  happy  home  waiting  his  re- 
turn at  night. 

Their  evenings  —  we  speak  now  of  the  years 
that  preceded  the  development  of  fatal  disease  in 
Mrs.  Lowrie's  system  —  were  generally  spent  in 
reading,  singing,  and  cheerful  recreations.  Mrs. 
Lowrie  usually  read  aloud  to  her  husband  a  part 
of  each  evening.  Her  voice  was  pleasant  and 
musical,  and  through  her  life  she  was  a  sweet 
singer.  This  gift  added  greatly  to  the  enjoyment 
of  the  household.  Until  near  the  close  of  their 
united  life  on  earth,  singing  was  a  delightful  part 
of  the  morning  and  the  evening  worship.  The 
beauty  of  household  religion  has  had  few  brighter 
illustrations  than  in  this  family. 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lowrie  were  possessed  of 
remarkable  self-control.  One  needed  to  know 
the  profound  depth  of  feeling  in  their  natures  to 
appreciate  that  wonderful  calmness  with  which 
every  event  of  life  was  met.  It  was  the  perfect 
peace  of  those  whose  minds  are  stayed  on  God. 

Once  only  do  we  remember  to  have  seen  this 
self-possession  broken.  It  was  the  day  that  the 
intelligence  came  of  Walter's  death,  at  the  hands 
of  pirates  in  the  China  sea, — Monday,  the  27th 
of  December,  1847.  Mr.  Lowrie  had  received 
the  sad  intelligence  at  the  office,  and  immediately 


22 


returned  home.  His  wife  came  in,  and  laying 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  as  she  was  wont 
to  do,  said  in  her  cheerful  tone:  "Why  are  you 
home  so  soon?"  "Walter  is  dead,"  was  all  the 
reply.  With  a  smothered  cry  of  anguish  she 
fled  to  her  room,  which  she  did  not  leave  until, 
through  a  long  and  silent  struggle,  she  had  cast 
the  terrible  burden  upon  Him  who  alone  could 
bear  it. 

That  evening  the  family  were  gathered  as  usual 
for  worship.  Mr.  Lowrie  read  the  Scriptures ; 
the  hymn  was  commenced, — but  the  voices  fal- 
tered and  broke,  —  and  the  sacrifice  w^as  left  upon 
the  altar,  with  groanings  that  could  not  be  ut- 
tered. 

To  both  parents  this  affliction  was  inexpres- 
sibly severe.  None  could  feel  the  personal  loss 
more  than  Mrs.  Lowrie.  To  Mr.  Lowrie,  his 
private  trial  was  so  mingled  with  grief  for  China, 
that  it  seemed  hard  to  say  which  was  the  more 
intense.  His  love  for  the  cause  of  Christ,  and 
his  yearning  for  the  perishing  heathen,  never 
seemed  so  wonderful  and  so  sublime  as  in  the 
struggle  in  which  he  bowed  to  the  will  of  God  in 
the  loss  of  this  beloved  son. 

Mrs.  Lowrie's  labors  in  New  York  were  by  no 
means  confined  to  the  interests  of  Foreign  Mis- 


23 


slons.  She  first  fulfilled  her  duties  at  home. 
Then,  whatever  time  and  strength  she  had  re- 
maining she  gave  to  her  Master's  work,  wherever 
she  seemed  called.  For  years  she  was  actively 
engaged  in  labors  for  "The  House  of  Industry;" 
serving  for  a  long  time  as  its  Treasurer,  and  re- 
linquishing the  work  only  when  compelled  to  do 
so,  almost  within  the  shadows  of  the  grave. 

She  was  deeply  interested  in  the  establishment 
of  the  "Presbyterian  Home  for  Aged  Women." 
To  this,  too,  she  gave  her  strength  while  it  lasted  ; 
remembering  it  liberally  also  in  her  final  benefac- 
tions. 

Of  the  details  of  her  work  for  these  objects  we 
have  been  unable  to  obtain  any  account,  beyond 
that  contained  in  the  statements  which  follow. 

One  who  knew  her  well  in  all  the  relations  she 
sustained,  says  : 

"  The  details  of  her  active  life  will  be  hard  to  de- 
scribe. Certainly  activity  was  a  marked  feature  of 
her  character ;  but  it  was  so  gentle  and  unobtrusive 
and  so  unremitting,  that  to  describe  it  seems  to  mar  it. 

"  In  the  estimation  of  others,  she  never  came  short 
in  any  thing  she  put  her  hand  to  ;  in  her  own  estima- 
tion she  did. 

"  I  knew  her  first  as  a  teacher  of  the  Bible  class. 
She  endeared  each  member  of  it  to  herself,  but  above 
all,  to  her  Saviour.      Without  an  exception,  she  led 


24 


each  one  to  a  consecration  of  herself  to  His  service  in 
which  her  own  life  was  wholly  occupied.  Notwith- 
standinof  other  engfagements,  she  found  time  to  devote 
the  whole  of  every  Friday  afternoon  to  her  class,  when 
she  formed  a  sewing  society  for  them.  She  improved 
these  occasions  also  to  impart  much  useful  information. 

"  As  the  wife  of  an  Elder,  she  labored  in  the  con- 
gregation, visiting  much,  particularly  among  the  sick, 
or  wherever  there  were  to  be  found  sorrowing  hearts, 
for  whom  she  had  a  keen  sympathy. 

"  Her  hospitality  knew  no  bounds,  save  that  it  was 
mostly  extended  to  those  who  were  of  the  household  of 
faith.  Extremely  systematic  in  every  thing,  she  was 
able  to  accomplish  in  one  day  what  in  ordinary  cases 
would  be  spread  over  the  week.  The  increase  of  her 
household  from  two  to  seventeen  was  met  with  the 
quietness  which  was  a  part  of  her  strength.  She  has 
formed  the  connecting  link  between  the  scattered 
members  of  her  family  by  her  interesting,  faithful  cor- 
respondence ;  her  letters  were  always  hailed  with  joy  ; 
they  were  concise,  clear,  full  of  love  and  interest  in  the 
person  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  Here  the 
breach  which  her  removal  has  made  is  most  keenly 
felt. 

"  With  the  commencement  of  the  '  House  of  Indus- 
try '  she  was  identified,  acting  from  the  first  as  its 
Treasurer.  Her  accounts  were  all  neatly  made  ;  and 
if  the  difference  of  one  cent  existed,  she  would  never 
rest  until  the  matter  was  cleared.  This  benevolent 
work  brought  to  her  notice  many  of  the  poor,  who  ever 
found  in  her  a  judicious  adviser  and  a  kind,  active 
friend. 


25 


"  At  the  first  suggestion  of  a  '  Home  for  Aged 
Women,'  she  threw  all  her  sympathies  into  the  effort. 
She  not  only  gave  her  hearty  co-operation  in  the  under- 
taking, and  acted  as  Treasurer  again  in  this  connection, 
but  she  felt  a  deep  interest  in  every  detail,  and  en- 
deared herself  to  many  of  those  who  have  found  there 
a  happy  home  in  the  evening  of  their  life. 

'^  There  was  no  good  work  undertaken  by  her 
Church  which  did  not  find  in  her  a  firm  friend  and 
active  supporter.  She  loved  the  ways  of  Zion.  I 
have  never  met  with  any  one  who  seemed  to  have 
fewer  drawings  to  the  world,  —  the  world  as  the 
enemy  of  God,  —  while  she  took  a  deep  and  intelligent 
interest  in  all  the  questions  of  the  day  which  agitated 
it.  .  .  .  Her  love  for  the  house  of  God  was  wonder- 
ful. It  overcame  every  obstacle.  In  the  winter  of  her  . 
last  sickness  this  seemed  to  me  a  weekly  miracle.  She 
received  strength  to  dress  and  walk  to  church  by  half- 
past  ten,  and  never  showed  the  least  disposition  to 
sleep,  while  every  other  day  she  was  perfectly  over- 
come by  sleep  until  about  eleven. 

"Every  other  Wednesday  during  March  (1S69)  we 
attended  the  female  prayer-meeting  at  the  Tabernacle. 
It  required  a  great  exertion  to  go  up  to  Thirty-fourth 
Street ;  but  she  seemed  always  to  feel  that  it  was  good 
to  be  there." 

Another  adds  : 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  realize  that  one  whom  we  have 
loved  and  honored  so  much  will  return  to  us  no  more. 
I   cannot  tell   you    what   a  blessing   she    was    to    the 


26 


Church,  or  how  much  we  miss  her  loving  voice  and 
gentle  ministries  ;  nor  all  she  was  constantly  doing  to 
make  others  happy." 

One  writing  in  behalf  of  the  managers  of  the 
"  House  of  Industry,"  says  : 

"  We  realize  that  in  her  death  our  society  has  sus- 
tained a  great  loss.  Her  thorough  accuracy  in  ac- 
counts, her  gentleness,  and  her  dignified  and  Christian 
demeanor  won  the  respect  and  confidence  of  all  associ- 
ated with  her.  The  industrious  poor  are  bereft  of  a 
true  friend.  For  seventeen  years  her  pen  v^^as  used 
most  faithfully  in  their  service  in  this  institution.  She 
now  rests  from  her  labors,  and  her  works  do  follow 
Jier." 

What  'Mrs.  Lowrie  was  as  a  friend  all  who 
enjoyed  her  friendship  can  testify.  From  a  child, 
her  power  to  win  affection  was  wonderful,  and 
those  who  knew  her  longest  and  best,  loved  her 
most.  The  evidence  of  this  might  be  gathered 
from  all  parts  of  our  land,  and  from  the  heathen 
world. 

One  qualified  by  many  years  of  friendship  to 
testify  writes  : 

*'  It  was  a  great  grief  to  me  that  during  these  long 
months  of  her  greatest  suffering  and  of  her  deepest 
consolation,  when  to  see  her  would  have  been  a  privi- 
lege, I  was  unable  to  do  so.     I  shall  regret  it  while  I 


27 


live.  And  when  we  turned  from  the  vault  where  she 
was  '  buried  out  of  our  sight,'  it  was,  as  relates  to  this 
world,  blank  and  comfortless  to  me.  I  longed  for 
some  remembered  word  and  look  on  which  to  dwell. 
...  I  have  indeed  been  blest,  for  thirty-two  years,  in 
holding  constant  intercourse  with  one  of  the  sweetest, 
jDurest,  and  most  gentle  of  human  beings.  It  is  rare 
to  see  such  a  union  of  true  womanly  softness  with  a 
strength  of  mind  and  will  equal  to  any  emergency,  — 
a  spirit  so  bright  and  glad,  so  full  of  enjoyment  in  life, 
and  yet,  when  the  blight  came,  submissive  at  once, 
willing  to  suffer  and  to  die  ;  as  she  said  to  me  [when 
first  informing  the  writer  of  the  fatal  nature  of  her  dis- 
ease] '  /  ain  resigned;  I  would  not  have  it  other- 
wise^ —  words  which  grace  alone  could  have  enabled 
her  to  feel  and  to  say.  For  life  was  full  of  enjoyment 
to  her.  She  was  gifted  with  all  that  could  make  exist- 
ence happy.  The  grace  to  live  as  she  did,  know^ing 
that  the  last  enemy  was  ever  near,  —  how  near  none 
could  tell,  —  is  accorded  to  few,  and  was  the  crown  of 
a  faithful  life.  .  .  .  She  was  blended  with  my  life 
during  all  these  years,  and  the  loss  of  her  consoling 
and  cheering  society  will  be  felt  in  the  few  and  darker 
years  that  may  lie  before  me." 

THE   SHADOW  OF  DEATH. 

The  first  symptoms  of  the  disease  alluded  to 
above  appeared  about  ten  years  before  its  fatal 
termination.  From  the  first,  it  contained  the 
sentence  of  death ;    yet  it  never  seemed  to  in- 


28 


terrupt  that  perfect  serenity  of  spirit  with  which 
Mrs.  Lowrie  met  every  event  of  life. 

Indeed  it  was  not  until  the  last  year  of  her  life 
that  some  of  her  most  intimate  friends  and  rel- 
atives were  aware  that  her  health  was  fatally 
affected.  She  suflered  at  times  greatly,  but 
never  complained ;  and  indeed  made  so  little 
of  h^  illness,  that  probably  none  of  her  friends 
suspected  the  extent  of  her  suffering.  Her 
manifold  duties  w^ere  discharged  as  promptly  as 
ever :  and  when,  in  the  progress  of  the  disease, 
she  lost  entirely  the  use  of  her  right  arm  and 
hand,  she  at  once  applied  herself  with  the  utmost 
cheerfulness  to  supply  their  place  with  her  left. 
Her  accounts  were  kept,  and  her  correspondence 
conducted  with  her  left  hand,  the  slope  of  the 
letters  simply  being  reversed.  Very  touching  it 
is  to  observe  now  these  silent  but  expressive 
evidences  of  that  remarkable  energy  of  character 
combined  with  entire  submission  to  the  will  of 
God,  which,  while  accepting  His  Providence 
without  a  murmur,  would  nevertheless  serve 
Him   to   the   end. 

Side  by  side  with  this  affliction  was  now  that 
of  the  failing  healtli  of  her  husband.  Thirty-six 
years  they  had  walked  together  in  the  sweetest 
earthly    relation.       Thirty-six    years    of    united, 


29 

incessant,  hallowed  toil  for  Christ !  Thirty-six 
years .  of  sowing,  for  others  to  reap !  It  was 
towards  evening,  and  the  day  was  far  spent. 
The  Master  was  coming  to  give  the  servants 
release  and  rest. 

Mr.  Lowrie  had  resigned  his  office  at  the  Mis- 
sion House  in  1867.  He  however  continued  his 
labors  gratuitously  as  long  as  his  strength  per- 
mitted him  to  reach  the  office.  A  fall  in  the 
spring  of  1868  gave  his  system  a  shock  from 
which  it  never  rallied.  In  the  autumn  of  that 
year  Mrs.  Lowrie  wrote  to  a  beloved  relative  : 
"  Mr.  Lowrie  does  not  vary  much  from  day  to 
day,  but  one  thing  after  another  is  left  off;  the 
walks  through  the  rooms  are  fewer  and  shorter ; 
the  daily  paper  is  now  never  asked  for,  but  the 
'chapter'  in  his  daily  reading  for  years  is  seldom 
omitted." 

Again  she  writes :  "  He  prays  morning  and 
evening  in  family  worship,  and  shows  no  weak- 
ness of  mind  there.  One  night,  after  a  very 
restless  time,  I  repeated  to  him  the  verses  'For 
I  am  persuaded  that  neither  death,  nor  life,'  &c. 
He  said  '  It  would  be  hard  to  add  any  thing  to 
those  texts.'  Another  night  I  said:  'My  text 
to-day  is  "Ye  are  complete  in  Him.'"  He  said, 
'Yes,  that  is  2i  great  text.'     One  Sunday  he  said 


30 

to  me:  ^I  am  very  low-spirited.'  *I  will  read 
to  you,'  I  replied.  'Oh,'  he  said,  'I  am  proof 
against  reading.'  'But  it  is  the  Bible  I  am  going 
to  read.'  'Oh,  the  Bible  ! '  he  exclaimed.  'One 
can  never  hear  that  without  wanting  to  hear  it 
again;  it  has  been  the  comfort  of  my  life.'  I 
read  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  John,  and  it  quieted 
him  at  once." 

All  his  powers  were  now  failing  together.  But 
the  great  work  of  his  life  pressed  upon  him  to 
the  end.  "For  several  weeks  before  his  death 
his  mind  wandered  upon  every  subject  but  that 
of  religion."  He  was  working  hard  for  missions. 
"The  High  School  in  Liberia,"  —  we  quote  from 
a  letter  of  Mrs.  Lowrie,  —  "  he  planned  over  and 
over  with  old  Dr.  Alexander's  advice,  and  I 
heard  him  praying  in  the  most  earnest  manner 
for  it,  so  real  was  it  all  to  him.  The  Indians  too 
he  was  constantly  planning  for.  He  was  gentle 
and  patient  to  the  last." 

It  was  very  affecting  to  see  the  once  powerful 
frame,  which  for  so  many  years  had  never  failed 
to  bow  in  the  morning  and  the  evening  sacrifice, 
unable  to  kneel  in  prayer.  With  his  head  bent 
upon  his  hand,  as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  he  con- 
ducted the  worship  of  the  family.  At  length  this 
became  impossible,  and  he  gave  the  service  into 


31 


her  hands  who,  in  the  days  of  his  strength,  never, 
in  his  absence,  suffered  the  fire  to  go  out  on  the 
household  altar. 

Mrs.  Lowrie  writes  :  "The  change  in  us  all  is 
very  great,  but  we  have  many  mercies,  —  a  quiet, 
peaceful  home,  with  abundance  for  our  comfort, 
and,  I  trust,  an  interest  in  the  precious  Saviour, 
which  will  give  us  entrance  to  His  everlasting 
kingdom." 

It  had  been,  as  we  have  seen,  the  earnest 
prayer  of  Mrs.  Lowrie  that  she  might  be  spared 
to  minister  to  her  husband  in  his  last  days  on 
earth.  This  prayer  was  granted,  and  then  her 
own  work  seemed  done.  On  the  14th  of  De- 
cember, 1868,  Mr.  Lowrie  was  released  from 
the  work  in  which  he  had  been  so  lonof  and 
so  unselfishly  engaged,  and  passed  from  the 
tenderest  earthly  ministries  to  the  presence  of 
his  Lord.  His  mission  was  finished.  The 
wonderful  lines  of  Providence,  by  which  he  had 
been  fitted  for  and  borne  into  and  carried 
through  that  mission,  had  now  converged.  It 
only  remained  "  that  mortality  should  be  swal- 
lowed up  of  life."  Calmly  as  he  had  lived,  so 
calmly  and  peacefully  he  entered  into  rest. 
There  was  no  rapture ;  there  was  no  audible 
testimony.      That  was   given   and  completed  by 


32 


his  life.  Death  could  add  nothing  to  it.  His 
witness  was  in  heaven  ;  his  record  was  on 
high. 

Leaning  on  the  Arm  that  had  smitten,  the 
widowed  sufferer  now  gathered  up  her  strength 
to  finish  the  journey  of  life  alone,  —  a  journey 
of  which  so  little  now  remained. 

A  few  days  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
Mrs.  Lowrie  w^rote  :  "Your  dear  father's  death 
was  sudden  to  me.  I  had  seen  him  fail  so 
gradually  for  seven  months  nearly,  it  was  hard  to 
realize  that  the  end  was  near.  He  was  confined 
to  his  bed  a  little  over  two  weeks.  Every  morn- 
ing, and,  if  necessary,  in  the  evening,  he  was 
lifted  out  of  the  bed,  and  sat  long  enough  to  have 
it  made,  and  I  looked  for  weeks  of  such  strength. 

R came  on  Thursday  morning.     I  felt  that 

^the  steps  of  a  good  man  are  ordered  by  the  Lord.' 
It  was  a  comfort  to  me  beyond  expression  to 
have  him.  His  father  knew  him,  though  he  said 
very  little  that  we  could  understand,  or  that  was 
coherent,  after  he  came.  Saturday  and  Sabbath 
he  failed  very  rapidly,  but  had  no  suffering ;  and 
literally  fell  asleep,  at  half-past  three  o'clock 
Monday  morning.  .  .  .  His  distressed  counte- 
nance changed  entirely  a  few  minutes  before  he 
went,  and  the  face  was  lovelv  to  the  last  look. 


33 


It  was  my  desire  to  be  permitted  to  attend  him  to 
the  end,  for  I  knew  the  trial  of  a  change  would 
be  greater  to  him  than  to  me ;  but  I  can  give  you 
no  idea  of  the  loneliness.  ...  I  was  able  to  go 
to  the  church  [at  the  funeral  services] ,  and  was 

thankful  that  I  was  able.     Dr.  P 's  address 

was  to  me  very  satisfactory  and  comforting." 

Speaking  of  the  offers  she  had  received  of  a 
home  with  different  friends,  —  with  all  of  whom 
her  presence  would  have  been  esteemed  a  bless- 
ing,—  she  expresses  the  apprehension  that  the 
spring  will  be  as  long  as  "  she  shall  need  any 
earthly  home,"  and  adds,  "I  try  to  leave  it  all  in 
the  hands  of  God." 

Again  she  writes  :  "  My  mind  is  not  disturbed 
with  anxieties,  as  when  the  reality  first  came  on 
me.  ...  I  feel  restful  and  trustful  in  some 
degree   since   a  most  comforting  visit  from  Dr. 

P last  Thursday.   .   .   .  Yesterday  morning  I 

went  to  church  and  came  home  in  a  snow-storm ; 
otherwise  I  should  have  gone  comfortably.  I 
was  not  able  to  go  to  communion." 

It  was  soon  evident  that  the  struggle  between 
life  and  death,  in  her  own  case,  was  to  be  close 
and  incessant.  She  realizes  it,  and  waits  for  its 
issue  with  the  same  submission  to  God,  the  same 

3 


34 


fulfilment  of  duty,  the  same  interest  in  the  Re- 
deemer's cause,  the  same  cheerful  communion 
with  friends,  that  had  marked  her  life. 

On  the  29th  of  January,  1869,  she  writes  :  "  I 
went  down  to  breakfast  yesterday  for  the  first 
time  in  a  week,  but  I  am  not  equal  to  what  I  was 
before.  I  suppose  every  attack  takes  a  pin  out 
of  the  tabernacle.  I  trust  your  hope  that  the 
Holy  Spirit  was  with  you  is  realized.  I  love  to 
hear  of  His  workings." 

Alluding  to  her  purpose  to  break  up  her  home, 
she  writes  on  the  29th  of  March  :  "  I  came  to  the 
decision  by  a  very  slow  process,  but  I  have  now 
no  doubt  that  I  have  decided  rightly,  and  another 
month  will  find  me  more  a  stranger  and  pilgrim 
than  I  have  ever  felt  myself  to  be ;  that  is,  if  I 
shall  be  well  enough  to  move.   ...   I  am  quite 

satisfied.    The  truth  is,  dear  M ,  I  have  no 

home-feeling.  The  light  of  this  dwelling  went 
out  when  your  father  died.  I  heard  of  dear  old 
Mrs.  Henry's  death  last  week,  and  I  could  not 
help  wishing  myself  among  them.  .  .  .  My  pres- 
ent plan  is  to  go  to  T 's  first,  and  in  June,  if  I 

am  well  enough,  go  to  R 's  for  the  rest  of  the 

summer.  ...  I  have  no  health  to  attend  to  any 
thing.  My  right  hand  and  arm  are  worse  than 
useless ;    they   are   so   swollen   and   heavy  as  to 


35 

render  me  very  uncomfortable.  I  seldom  go  out 
except  to  church,  and  strange  to  say  I  am  al- 
most every  Sunday  able  to  go.     It  is  my  greatest 

joy-" 

The  intimations  are  not  faint  or  few  now  that 
there  may  soon  be  for  her  greater  joy  in  a  higher 
and  unsuftering  service.  She  is  "  never  a  moment 
free  from  pain."  The  faithful  left  hand  does  its 
work,  but  the  letters  are  briefer  and  fewer.  On 
the  8th  of  May  she  writes : 

"  My  Dear  R :  I  have  had  another  long  attack 

of  rheumatism  and  helplessness.  I  was  well  enough 
to  ride  out  day  before  yesterday,  and  took  more  cold, 
and  now  am  not  able  to  bear  my  weight  on  my  foot. 
It  is  very  discouraging,  and  has  delayed  my  getting  off, 

though  I  hope  to  go  next  week  on  Thursday.     A 

has  been  here  two  weeks  or  more,  and  will  stay  until 
I  get  away.  I  am  not  able  to  do  one  thing  for  myself, 
and  hardly  to  give  directions. 

"  The  shells  [a  favorite  cabinet  of  sea-shells]  have 
been  put  into  boxes,  and  the  delicate  ones  I  had 
brought  upstairs.  How  beautiful  they  are  !  and  they 
revive  such  tender  recollections !  There  is  not  one 
that  your  dear  father  and  I  had  not  handled  and 
admired  together.     I  felt  glad  they  were  going  to  you 

and  T .  ...  I  have  now  no  idea  of  being  able 

to  go  to  you  this  summer  ;  but  they  tell  me  I  am  easily 
discouraged.  My  verses  yesterday  were  Ps.  cxlvii. 
lo,  II,  and  they  comforted  me." 


36 


It  will  have  been  seen  that  Mrs.  Lowrie's 
original  plan,  in  leaving  New  York,  was  to 
divide  her  time  between  the  home  of  her  brother, 
to  which  she  removed,  and  that  of  one  to  whom 
for  thirty-six  years  she  had  borne  the  most  tender 
relation  of  mother.  As  her  disease  progressed, 
however,  it  became  evident  that  this  plan  must 
be  surrendered.  She  yielded  it,  not  without  dis- 
appointment, but  without  the  least  complaint  or 
dissatisfaction.  Indeed,  divine  grace  had  so  far 
accomplished  its  work  that  no  earthly  disappoint- 
ment seemed  to  disturb  her.  She  had  gone 
through  the  worst,  and  "  the  fruit  of  righteous- 
ness was  peace." 

The  testimony  of  her  physician  is,  that  "  When 
she  became  aware  of  the  serious  nature  of  her 
disease,  she  was  for  a  while  depressed  with  the 
fear  that  she  should  not  be  spared  to  take  care 
of  her  husband  as  long  as  he  lived.  But  her 
perfect  trust  in  the  goodness  of  God  soon  restored 
her  usual  cheerfulness ;  and  confident  in  her 
Saviour,  that  He  would  do  for  them  both  that 
which  would  be  for  their  good  and  His  own  glory, 
she  appeared  to  say  : 

'  I'll  go  and  come, 
Nor  fear  to  die, 
Till  from  on  high 
Thou  call  me  home.'" 


37 


Referring  to  the  sufferings  under  which  her 
"  active  services "  were  rendered  for  causes  of 
benevolence,  the  same  friend  adds  :  "  Under  all 
these  trying  circumstances,  she  was  uniformly 
cheerful  and  composed.  It  was  more  than  natu- 
ral strength  of  character :  it  was  the  perfect  rest 
and  quiet  that  are  given  only  to  those  whose 
hope  is  fixed  on  a  surer  foundation  than  this 
world   can  afford." 


THE   LAST   CHANGE. 

Her  final  departure  from  her  home  in  Twelfth 
Street  was  made  with  as  much  composure  and 
serenity  of  spirit  as  if  she  were  going  simply 
for  a  morning  ride.  Yet  it  could  not  be  that 
that  step  should  have  been  taken  without  a  strug- 
gle. She  was  leaving  a  home  in  which  the  most 
sacred  associations  of  a  quarter  of  a  century  were 
gathered.  She  was  leaving  friends  on  whose 
unfailing  kindness  and  sympathy  she  had  never 
had  occasion  to  depend  in  vain,  and  on  whose 
friendship  she  m.ight  rest  for  all  the  offices  that 
friendship  could  render  to  the  end.  She  was 
leaving  a  Church  dear  to  her  beyond  expression. 
She  was  leaving  the  field  of  her  life's  best  work, 
the  scenes  of  her  holiest  joys,  and  of  her  most 
sacred   sorrows.     These  were  bonds  that  could 


38 


not  be  broken  without  pain.  But  whatever  the 
conflict,  it  was  over  before  the  hour  came.  The 
path  once  made  plain  was  entered  with  peace 
and  gratitude,  and  even  joy. 

She  removed  to  the  house  of  her  brother,  in 
Norwalk,  Connecticut,  on  the  13th  of  May,  1869. 
She  was  very  feeble  when  she  left  New  York, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  she  was  able  to 
reach  the  carriage.  She  bore  the  journey,  how- 
ever, by  the  cars  remarkably  well.  Indeed  she 
felt  so  much  better  before  the  end  of  it,  that 
she  was  already  planning  the  enjoyment  of  a 
speedy  return  to  visit  her  friends  in  New  York. 
The  next  day  she  was  still  better,  and  walked 
through  the  yard  and  garden  of  the  Parsonage 
with  great  delight.  For  some  days  she  appeared 
to  rally.  She  rode  out  frequently,  enjoying  in- 
tensely the  numberless  beautiful  drives  in  the 
vicinity  of  her  new  home.  Her  favorite  drive 
was  by  the  sea-shore,  where  she  could  inhale 
the  refreshing  breeze  and  enjoy  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  the  scenery,  ever  varying  with  the 
changing  atmosphere  ;  —  the  distant  Long  Island 
coast ;  the  blue  stretch  of  water  between ;  the 
numerous  islands,  with  their  remarkable  diversity 
of  form  and  extent;  the  vessels  passing  and  re- 
passing—  all  furnished  a  source  of  enjoyment 
with  which  she  never  wearied. 


39 


The  rooms  appropriated  to  her  use  had  been 
fitted  up  with  furniture,  pictures,  and  ornaments 
from  her  home  in  New  York.  Being  upon  the 
first  floor,  she  was  able  to  join  the  family  at  their 
meals,  —  a  pleasure  of  which  she  had  long  been 
deprived,  and  which  she  enjoyed  greatly.  Her 
presence  was  no  less  valued  by  the  family.  No 
meal  seemed  complete  without  her.  Her  uni- 
form vivacity  and  affection  threw  light  on  every 
gathering.  Her  room  —  while  she  was  able  to 
bear  it — was  the  gathering  place  of  the  family 
whom  she  loved  to  have  around  her.  Here,  too, 
she  received  the  occasional  visits  of  friends  from 
a  distance,  as  well  as  of  those  who,  though 
strangers  before,  had  endeared  themselves  to 
her  by  many  acts  of  generous  and  thoughtful 
attention.  One  of  her  last  and  strongrest  ex- 
pressions  of  gratitude,  was  for  the  kindness  of 
these  dear  friends  whom  she  had  never  known 
before. 

Her  sufferings,  after  her  removal  to  Nor  walk, 
seemed  to  be  mitigated.  She  had  hardly  a 
serious  attack  of  the  rheumatic  trouble  which 
had  been  so  painful  before.  Her  physician  from 
New  York  visited  her  once,  and  then  transferred 
her  case  to  the  care  of  one  whose  attention  and 
fidelity  were  unremitting  to  the  end. 


40 


To  those  who  had  known  her  whole  life  of 
active  service  for  others,  and  her  freedom  from 
dependence,  and  the  energy  with  which  she  had 
maintained  that  freedom  to  the  last  degree  of 
strength,  nothing  was  more  remarkable  than 
the  ease  and  cheerfulness  with  which  she  con- 
sented to  be  utterly  dependent  on  others.  "You 
never  expected  to  see  me  like  this,  did  you?" 
she  once  said,  with  a  smile,  to  a  dear  relative 
from  a  distance,  as  he  entered  her  room.  Her 
manner  throughout  was  of  one  to  whom  it  was 

"  Sweet  to  lie  passive  in  His  hands, 
And  know  no  will  but  His." 

*  She  continued  to  ride  out  as  long  as  she  could 
be  borne  to  the  carriage.  On  the  6th  of  July, 
she  had  ridden  with  the  family  to  Westport. 
The  next  morning,  while  dressing,  a  severe 
hemorrhage  prostrated  her,  from  which  she  never 
fully  rallied.  She  lingered  for  six  weeks,  watched 
over  with  a  care  which  it  seemed  a  pleasure  rather 
than  a  duty  to  render.  Occasionally  she  would 
so  far  recover  strength  as  to  be  rolled  out  upon 
the    piazza,  where    she  would   lie   enjoying  the 


*  From  this  point,  the  sketch  is  continued  principally  from 
notes  written  just  after  Mrs.  Lowrie's  death. 


41 


passing  scenes  and  the  beauties  of  nature.  Most 
of  the  time  she  was  quite  helpless,  requiring  four 
persons  to  move  her  from  the  bed  to  the  lounge, 
and  from  the  lounge  back  to  the  bed.  Still  she 
was  so  invariably  cheerful  and  happy  that  it 
never  seemed  like  a  room  where  we  were  waiting 
for  death. 

Having  arranged  her  worldly  affairs,  nothing 
remained  for  her  but  to  wait  for  the  coming  of  her 
Lord.  It  was  our  custom,  to  the  last,  to  have  our 
evening  prayers  in  her  room,  and  in  the  morning 
the  door  to  her  room  was  left  open  while  the 
family  occupied  the  one  adjoining.  This  was  a 
privilege  she  greatly  prized,  and  missed  if  for 
any  reason  the  arrangement  was  interfered  with. 
She  enjoyed,  as  she  had  always  done,  the  singing 
in  the  worship  of  the  family.  Through  her 
whole  sickness,  one  of  the  children  would  ar- 
range the  book  for  her  upon  the  bed,  and  she 
would  join  with  delight  in  our  songs  of  praise. 
This  she  did  almost  to  the  ver}^  last.  She  loved 
also  to  hear  and  to  unite  with  the  children  in 
their  little  Sabbath-School  hymns  ;  some  of 
which  —  such  as  "He  leadeth  me,"  "Jesus  paid 
it  all "  —  she  was  very  fond  of.  The  Sabbath 
evenings  in  "  Aunt  Mary's "  room  are  among 
the  sweetest  recollections  of  the  household,  and 


42 


as    far    removed    from    the    gloom    of   death    as 
possible. 

Mrs.  Lowrie  had  never  been  in  the  habit  of 
speaking  freely  of  her  religious  feelings.  She 
referred  to  them  now  at  times,  and  it  was  painful 
to  find  that  her  mind  was  not  clear  as  to  her 
personal  acceptance  with  God.  This  gave  direc- 
tion to  much  of  our  thoughts  and  readings  and 
prayers. 

Our  first  earnest  request  had  been  that  God 
would  interpose  for  her  recovery.  We  knew 
there  was  no  human  hope,  but  we  knew  that 
with  God  all  things  were  possible.  When  it 
became  evident  that  this  prayer  was  not  to 
be  answered,  —  that  God  had  prepared  better 
things  for  her,  and  Christ's  blessed  intercession 
was  prevailing  over  ours,  —  we  then  asked 
that  she  might  be  delivered  from  great  suffering. 
This  prayer  God  was  pleased  to  grant.  She^ 
was  relieved  to  a  great  extent  from  acute  pain, 
and  her  position  in  sleep  became  more  com- 
fortable. 

Towards  the  close  of  her  life,  in  her  extreme 
weakness,  her  mind  and  body  sympathized.  She 
became  incapable  of  exertion,  and  of  connected 
thought,  and  her  mind  at  times  wandered.  Of 
this  she  was  herself  conscious  ;    and  wished  us 


43 


to  pray  that  she  might  be  delivered  from  this 
trial  at  least  for  a  season  before  she  should 
pass  away.  This  prayer  with  others  was  strik- 
ingly answered. 

In  relation  to  her  doubts,  her  brother  was  at 
one  time  speaking  to  her  of  the  hope  that  arose 
from  a  consideration  of  what  God  had  already 
done  for  her,  —  that  if  He  had  not  desired  and  de- 
signed her  salvation  He  could  not  have  done  all 
He  had  done,  —  and  quoted  the  words  :  "  He 
that  spared  not  His  own  Son,  but  delivered  Him 
up  for  us  all,  how  shall  He  not  with  Him  also 
freely  give  us  all  things."  She  replied  sweetly  : 
"That  ought  to  be  enough." 

In  all  these  anxieties,  however,  when  nothing 
else  gave  relief,  she  would  fall  back  upon  the 
simple  assurance  :  "  He  that  bcUeveth  shall  be 
saved  ;  "  saying  "  /  do  believe.'" 

On   one   occasion,   while   conversing   with  her 

sister,  she  said:    "I  must  speak  to   M "  (a 

servant  in  the  family,  whom  she  had  not  seen). 

"What  do  you  wish  to  say  to  her?"  she  was 
asked. 

"  I  would  tell  her  that  my  trust  is  in  Christ ; 
and  that  the  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from 
all  sin."  It  was  clear  that  in  the  darkest  hour 
she  was  clinging  to  the  only  Name. 


•     44 

Her  strength  failed  day  by  day  ;  and  more  than 
once,  as  we  watched  her,  the  hour  of  her  de- 
parture seemed  to  have  come.  On  Thursday 
evening,  the  12th  of  August,  there  was  a  marked 
change.  The  evening  prayers  of  the  family  had 
just  been  attended  in  her  room.  Her  brother  had 
left  the  room,  when  she  sent  for  him  again  to 
pray  with  her.  She  desired  him  earnestly  to  ask 
that  she  might  have  the  clear  use  of  her  mind 
once  more  before  she  died.  Its  wandering  now 
was  but  partial.  Her  sister  played  and  sung 
the  beautiful  h3'mn  of  Lyte, — the  last  gift  of  the 
dying  poet  to  the  Church,  —  written  when  the 
final  darkness  was  deepening  around  him,  and 
the  morning  was  breaking  beyond,  — 

''  Abide  with  me  ;   fast  falls  the  eventide." 

It  was  a  favorite  hymn  of  Mrs.  Lowrie  ;  ^one 
that  she  always  delighted  to  hear,  and  yet  one 
that  she  could  never  hear  without  emotion. 
Towards  the  close  of  her  life,  it  was  sung  to  her 
daily.* 

Afterwards  we  all  united  in  singing,  — 

"  Jesus,  Lover  of  my  soul." 

During  the  night,  as  we  watched  with  her,  she 
said :  "  I  do  not  expect  to  live  any  time  ;  God  is 

*  See  page  64. 


45 

showing  me  that  He  can  do  without  me  here." 
And  she  added  :  "  God  makes  no  mistakes.''' 

An  alhision  was  made  to  what  God  had  enabled 
her  to  do  for  others.  She  immediately  and  ear- 
nestly interrupted  the  remark:  "Oh,  do  not  say 
that !     Do  not  speak  of  what  I  have  done  !  " 

Thus  the  night  passed,  and  she  was  still  with 
us  The  three  following  days  she  slept  much, 
and  her  mind  wandered.  The  end  was  evidently 
near,  and  our  prayers  had  not  been  fully  answered. 
The  cloud  had  not  been  lifted.  But  God  had  not 
forgotten  His  promises. 

On  Sunday  night,  or  rather  Monday  morn- 
ing, Aug.  i6,  about  one  o'clock,  we  were  again 
called.  She  was  apparently  dying.  As  we  bent 
over  her,  it  was  evident  that  she  was  attempting 
to  speak,  but  her  strength  seemed  gone.  At 
length  we  caught  the  words  of  fervent  prayer. 
It  is  impossible  to  describe  it.  None  who  listened 
to  it  could  control  their  feelings.  She  prayed  for 
the  dear  Church  with  which  she  was  connected, 
and  in  which  she  had  enjoyed  so  many  privileges  ; 
for  its  Pastor  by  name  ;  and  for  all  its  members, 
pleading  that  they  might  be  blessed,  and  be  use- 
ful Christians ;  for  her  relatives  and  friends  and 
servants  with  great  particularity ;  and  for  the 
people  among  whom  her  last  days  had  been 
spent,  and  who  had  been  so  kind  to  her. 


46 


It  seemed  almost  sacrilege  to  listen.  Her  very 
physical  strength  appeared  renewed  as  she  waited 
on  the  Lord.  When  her  prayer  was  closed,  it  was 
evident  that  our  desires  had  been  granted.  Her 
mind  was  quite  clear  again.  Recognizing  us,  she 
left  her  messages  of  affection  for  absent  friends, 
and  spoke  with  gratitude  of  the  change  she  felt. 
"I  have  no  pain  of  mind  or  body.  I  wonder 
if  the  doctor  would  think  I  am  dying :  it  is 
pleasant  to  be  lying  here." 

She  spoke  with  delight  of  the  prospect  of  meet- 
ing her  husband,  and  the  sister  whose  death 
several  years  before  had  fallen  so  heavily  upon 
her. 

To  one  who  had  been  her  almost  constant  com- 
panion and  attendant  while  she  was  with  us,  she 
said  :  "  What  a  sister  you  have  been  to  me  !  '^ 

To  her  brother  she  regretted  that  she  should 
"  take  so  much  of  his  precious  time ;  but,"  she 
added,  "it  won't  be  long."  She  was  assured  that 
it  was  only  a  precious  privilege  to  minister  to  her 
while  the  opportunity  was  given. 

To  another  brother  and  sister,  who  were  also 
with  her  during  the  last  few  days  of  her  life,  she 
expressed  the  deepest  love  and  gratitude. 

As  she  was  evidently  sinking,  some  stimu- 
lant was  oftered  her,  with  the  remark:  "It  will 


47 


strengthen  you."     She  dedined  it,  saying:  "Is  it 
worth  while  to  bring  me  back  ?  " 

As  we  united  in  prayer,  the  shadow  of  the 
cloud  still  rested  on  her.  "Pray,"  she  said,  "that 
I  may  be  a  true  member  of  the  body  of  Christ." 
None  but  herself  could  doubt  that  she  was  and 
had  long  been  a  living  member  of  that  sacred 
and  mystical  body.    Again  the  favorite  hymn  was 

sung  : 

"  Abide  with  me." 

This  was  followed  by  that  noblest  and  sweetest 
hymn  of  a  living  and  a  dying  faith  : 

"  Rock  of  Ages." 

As  the  night  passed  on,  she  became  quiet,  and 
remained  thus  until  morning.  Through  the  fol- 
low^ing  day  there  was  no  essential  change  until 
towards  evening.  She  then  sent  for  her  brother, 
who  was  with  her. at  once.  Her  mind  was  still 
clear,  but  sorely  pressed  with  doubts.  She  wished 
prayer  to  be  offered,  that  she  might  not  be  de- 
ceived. Apart  from  the  general  darkness  that 
overhung  her,  she  was  struggling  with  what 
seemed  to  be  a  direct  suggestion  of  the  tempter. 
She  had  relished  the  delicacies  that  had  been  pro- 
vided for  her,  and  that  were  so  necessary  to  her 
support;  and  now,  in  her  weakness,  the  thought 


48 


was  pressed  upon  her,  that  she  could  not  be  a  true 
child  of  God,  and  think  so  much  of  these  things 
at  such  a  time.  This  thought  she  expressed  to 
one  who  stood  by  her  side.  "  Why,"  was  the  im- 
mediate reply,  "the  Saviour  Himself,  when  He 
was  dying,  cried,  ^  I  thirst.'" 

She  looked  up,  and  her  whole  soul  seemed  to 
come  into  her  countenance  as  she  caught  the 
thought,  and  exclaimed  :  "  That  is  wonderful!  " 

We  engaged  in  prayer,  in  the  midst  of  which 
the  burden  of  her  responsibilities  seemed  to  weigh 
so  upon  her  that  she  interrupted  the  prayer  with 
a  reference  to  them.  "  No  matter,"  was  the  reply, 
"  what  our  sins  or  short-comings  have  been :  the 
blood  of  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin,  even  from 
weakness  of  faith  itself.  Now  leave  all  your 
anxieties  here."  The  prayer  was  then  con^^inued. 
The  last  word  was  hardly  spoken  before  she  ex- 
claimed :  "  It  is  gone  !  it  is  all  gone  !  Jesus  is 
precious  !  Jesus  is  glorious  !  Blessed  Jesus  !  His 
blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin."  Then  immediately 
turning  her  head,  and  looking  around  the  room, 
she  said,  with  reference  to  her  former  doubts,  "I 
hope  there  is  no  one  here  who  can  be  injured  by 
my  want  of  faith." 

She  then  slept  for  a  while.  When  she  woke, 
she  looked  at  her  left  hand,  the  use  of  which  she 


49 


had  also  lost,  and  observed  that  it  did  not  seem 
as  stiff'  as  it  had  been.  Then  turning  to  the 
physician  who  was  by  her  side,  she  said  :  "  Doc- 
tor, this  is  the  last;  but  perhaps,"  she  added, 
"  there  is  more  yet." 

Her  sister  spoke  of  what  the  Saviour  had  done 
for  her. 

"  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  it,"  she  exclaimed 
again  and  again. 

There  had  never  been  any  excitement  in  her 
experience.  No  high  state  of  feeling  was  now 
to  be  expected.  There  was  no  rapture.  She 
referred  to  this,  saying:  "To  some  God  gives 
triumph,  but  He  will  not  give  that  to  me."  The 
reply  was  :  "  The  great  promise  is  of  peace,  not 
triumph ;  and  He  has  given  you  this."  She 
assented,  saying  again,  "I  never  knew  any  thing 
like  it."  This  was  repeated  with  an  expression 
almost  joyous:  "I  do  not  seem,"  she  said,  "to 
have  a  care  :   every  thing  is  done  for  me." 

Her  sister  repeated  to  her  one  of  her  own  re- 
marks, —  that  the  more  we  can  be  like  little  chil- 
dren towards  Christ,  the  better  He  is  pleased. 
She  said,  "  I  think  I  feel  so ;  but  I  am  so  remiss  " 

Nothing  was  more  remarkable  to  us  who  knew 
her  whole  life's  devotion  to  the  welfare  and  happi- 
ness of  others  —  whose  only  recollections  of  her 

4 


so 


were  those  of  self-sacrificing  unselfishness — than 
the  expressions  of  her  grief  at  her  selfishenss. 
This,  which  she  so  bitterly  lamented,  we  are  sure 
was  never  discovered  by  any  human  eye  but  her 
own. 

Each  hour  was  now  loosening  the  silver  cord. 
Her  remaining  strength  was  gradually  but  surely 
failing.  With  broken  utterance  she  left  once 
more  her  messages  of  afi:ection  for  absent  friends. 
They  were  messages  not  only  of  gratitude,  but 
of  strong  desire  for  their  participation  in  the  love 
and  redemption  of  Christ. 

She  then  slept  again,  and  we  watched  her 
through  the  night  and  another  day.  That  day 
her  life  seemed  spared  that  she  might  meet  once 
more  on  earth  with  one  to  whom  she  was  ardently 
attached,  and  who  had  hastened  from  a  distance 
to  her  bedside.  The  interview  was  most  tender 
and  grateful ;  and  then  the  ties  of  life  were  un- 
bound and  laid  aside. 

Tuesday  night,  the  17th  of  August,  was  the 
last  in  which  she  needed  our  earthly  ministries. 
There  was  no  marked  change,  but  increasing 
weakness.  About  two  o'clock  she  was  heard 
again  engaged  in  prayer.  The  last  expression 
we  can  now  recall  was  this  :  "  Christ  has  been  so 
good  to  me  !  "    Yes,  goodness  and  mercy  had  fol- 


51 


lowed  her  all  the  days  of  her  life,  and  she  was 
now  to  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for  ever. 
Beyond  her  and  our  fears,  Jesus  led  her  gently 
and  without  a  struggle  through  the  valley.  At 
half-past  one  o'clock  on  Wednesday  afternoon, 
the  i8th  of  August,  1869,  she  fell  asleep. 

Another  hand,  that  ministered  to  her  unwea- 
riedly  through  the  closing  months  of  her  life, 
writes  : 

"  The  solemnity  of  the  dying  moments  of  dear  Mary 
deepens  on  my  mind  more  and  more.  I  confess, 
the  presence  of  death  awed  me,  and  I  was  constantly 
nerving  myself  to  look  upon  the  physical  suffering 
which  might  attend  the  hour.  It  was  a  great  source 
of  gratitude  with  us  that  she  was  spared  this.  She 
lay  perfectly  quiet,  evidently  retaining  her  conscious- 
ness to  the  last. 

"  I  saw  the  great  change  come  over  her,  as  I  stood 

alone  by  her  bedside,  and  immediately  called  Mr.  C . 

He  was  with  her  at  once  ;  and  as  he  leaned  over 
her,  smoothing  her  forehead,  he  said,  '  Mary,  is  Jesus 
with  you?'  —  'Yes,'  she  replied.  'Do  you  know 
us?' — 'Yes.'  So  she  passed  away.  We  could  not 
speak  except  by  giving  her  up  once  more  in  earnest 
prayer.  Jesus  was  present,  and  was  tarrying  with  us  : 
we  knew  it.  But  did  she  not  see  Him?  Her  mind 
was  evidently  occupied  beyond  our  vision  ;  and  all  we 
could  do  was  to  watch  the  coming  and  going  of  each 
breath,  until  we  knew  she  was  parted  from  us,  and 
had  followed  her  dear  Redeemer,  as  He  led  the  way. 


52 


"  The  hour  of  her  death  was  a  strong  contrast  to 
the  repeated  occasions  on  which  we  had  before  been 
called  to  her,  fearing  that  hour  had  come.  At  these 
seasons,  it  seemed  as  if  she  poured  her  whole  soul  out 
in  love  and  gratitude  and  fervent  prayer  for  those  she 
was  leaving.  But  when  death  actually  came,  her 
whole  aspect  seemed  to  say,  though  words  were  want- 
ing, 'Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  Thee?  and  there 
is  none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  besides  Thee.' 

"  It  was  easy  to  believe  this  ;  for  the  sweet  impress 
of  her  heavenly  spirit  seemed  given  to  those  dear 
remains,  and  it  was  hard  to  realize  that  she  had  left 
us,  to  be  with  us  no  more  on  earth." 


The  funeral  services  were  attended  at  the  house 
of  her  brother  in  Norwalk,  on  Friday,  August 
20th,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Rankin  of  Fairfield  conduct- 
ing them.  The  body  was  then  removed  to  New 
York,  to  be  placed  in  the  vault  of  the  First  Pres- 
byterian Church  of  that  city.  Services  were  held 
in  the  church.  In  the  absence  of  the  Pastor, 
these  were  conducted  by  the  Rev.  Drs.  Plumer, 
Wells,  and  Stead.  After  prayer  by  Dr.  Stead, 
and  a  few  impressive  remarks  by  Dr.  Plumer, 
with  an  address  by  Dr.  Wells,  the  body  was 
borne  to  the  vault,  to  rest  by  the  side  of  her  hus- 
band, with  whom  she  had  shared  so  long  the 
work  of  the  Master  on  earth,  and  from  whom,  in 
the  Master's  glory^  and  rest,  she  was  for  so  short  a 
time  separated. 


ADDRESS 


BY   THE 


REV.    J.    D.    WELLS,    D.D., 

Of  Brooklyn,  N.Y, 


ADDRESS. 


THIS  service  is  more  for  consolation  than  eulogy. 
And  our  comfort  may  grow  into  joyfulness.  If  we 
look  to  the  earth  we  see  shadows  and  tears, — mourn- 
ers going  about  the  streets.  If  we  lift  our  eyes  to  the 
heavens,  the  tongue  cannot  tell  all  that  is  revealed  for 
the  comfort  and  learning  of  those  whose  friends  have 
fallen  asleep  in  Jesus.  I  do  not  think  we  make  enough 
of  Christ's  joy  in  receiving  His  blood-bought  servants 
to  Himself.  As  He  loved  His  own  which  were  in  the 
world  to  the  end  of  His  life,  so  He  does  to  the  end  of 
theirs  ;  and  precious  in  His  sight  is  the  death  of  His 
saints.  He  sees  of  the  travail  of  His  soul,  and  is  satis- 
fied. 

Moreover,  there  is  an  unfathomable  depth  of  mys- 
tery and  consolation  in  the  gladness  of  the  eternal 
God  when  His  sons  and  daughters  are  brought  to  glory, 
through  the  sufterings  of  Christ,  the  Captain  of  their 
salvation. 

Nor  is  it  an  extravagant  thought  that  all  the  angels 
of  heaven  are  moved  to  emotional  and  heart-felt  joy 
whenever  a  weary  pilgrim  rests  from  his  journey  and 
toil  in  the  City  of  God.  Enjoying  their  faithful  minis- 
try through  life,  and  in  the  article  of  death,  we  ought 
to  rejoice  for  their  sake,  when  we  reflect  how  much 


56 


reason  they  have  for  unfeigned  gratitude  and  gladness, 
as  often  as  they  see  an  heir  of  salvation  taking  his 
place  among  those  who  are  as  the  angels  of  God. 

And  what  can  be  said  of  the  sacred  pleasure  that 
fills  the  hearts  of  kinsfolk  and  acquaintances,  when 
those  whom  they  left  weeping  on  the  earth  are  them- 
selves admitted  into  heaven?  Nor  is  the  pleasure 
limited  by  recognition  :  the  great  multitude  of  souls 
beneath  the  altar  and  around  the  throne  are  part  of 
one  family,  named  by  the  same  Father,  and  after  the 
same  Christ.  It  brings  common  joy  to  all,  to  have 
the  song  of  redemption  sung  by  new  voices,  the  glory 
of  God  recognized  and  shown  forth  by  others  than 
themselves. 

Few,  in  any  case,  are  the  mourners  here,  in  com- 
parison with  the  multitudes  rejoicing  above.  And 
there  is  nothing  to  hinder  a  sacred  joyfulness,  even 
when  we  weep,  with  Jesus,  because  our  earthly  homes 
are  made  very  desolate. 

There  is  lying  before  us  here  the  shrouded  and 
coffined  body  of  one  whom  we  all  sincerely  loved.  In 
a  few  moments  the  grave  will  hide  her  from  our  eyes. 
We  must  leave  this  precious  form  to  darkness  and 
decay.  But  may  w^e  not  think,  too,  that  this  body  of 
His  saint  is  dear  to  Jesus?  Is  it  not  joined  forever  to 
His  living  person?  We  know  assuredly  that  it  will 
share  in  all  the  benefits  of  redemption  by  His  blood. 
Wasted  and  weary  with  the  labors  and  sicknesses  and 
sorrows  of  life,  it  is  to  rest  in  the  grave,  as  in  a  bed, 
until  the  resurrection,  and  then  to  be  changed  and 
fashioned  like  unto  Christ's  glorious  body.  ''  For  if 
we  believe   that  Jesus  died  and   rose  again,  even  so 


57 


them  also  that  sleep  in  Jesus  will  God  bring  with 
Him."  Oh,  the  mystery  and  sweetness  of  these  words  ! 
JesLis  died.  He  bore  the  penal  consequences  of  our 
sin.  For  this  reason,  though  our  body  is  dead  because 
of  sin,  our  spirit  is  life  because  of  righteousness.  Our 
relation  to  death  as  the  punishment  of  sin  is  forever 
changed,  and  we  sleep  in  Jesus.  And  even  now  we 
rise  in  Him  to  walk  in  newness  of  life  ;  and  out  of  our 
graves  God  will  bring  us  with  Him,  and  up  to  His 
throne  and  presence  too,  like  unto  Jesus  in  character, 
and  like  Him  in  body.  So  that,  in  the  fact  of  present 
rest  for  the  weary,  and  the  assured  hope  of  a  resur- 
rection to  life  and  glory,  we  have  strong  consolation 
while  mourning  for  our  pious  dead. 

But  we  are  greatly  afflicted  by  the  removal  from  us 
of  the  living  person,  with  the  sentient  mind,  the  warm 
heart,  the  lovely  character.  The  child  that  rewarded 
the  love  and  care  of  her  parents  by  gratitude  and  de- 
votion,—  the  sister,  wife,  mother,  dear  to  other  hearts, 
—  has  finally  left  all  the  homes  of  her  kindred  who 
survive,  and  gone  to  be  with  Christ  and  those  who 
entered  into  rest  before  her. 

Mrs.  Lowrie  will  not  be  seen  again  in  any  of  the 
places  of  Christian  toil  that  she  loved  so  well.  Till 
God  took  the  honored  head  of  her  house  to  Himself,  a 
few  months  ago,  her  own  family  very  properly  received 
the  largest  share  of  her  thought  and  labor  ;  but  it  was 
not  the  only  sphere  in  which  her  influence  was  felt. 

To  the  great  w^ork  belonging  to  the  Church  she 
gave  herself  with  humble  faith  and  zeal.  She  loved 
her  own  particular  Church.  So,  too,  she  loved  the 
whole  Church,  which  is  the  body  of  Christ,  the  fullness 


S8 


of  Him  that  filleth  all  in  all,  and  did  not  forget  its  wel- 
fare or  its  woe. 

She  was  a  faithful  and  successful  teacher  in  the 
Sabbath  school,  —  an  example  in  this  to  other  mature 
Christians  who  have  strength  and  opportunity  to  feed 
Christ's  lambs.  She  aided  largely  in  the  beneficent 
plans  and  labors  of  the  House  of  Industry,  and  in  this 
work  exhibited  more  than  ordinary  executive  ability 
and  skill  of  hand.  She  was  deeply  interested  in  the 
beginnings  and  early  success  of  the  Presbyterian  Home 
for  Aged  Women. 

She  shared  her  husband's  work  and  prayers  and 
self-denial  for  the  spread  of  the  Gospel  and  the  found- 
ing of  all  its  blessed  institutions  among  the  heathen. 
Upon  her  as  well  as  him  fell  the  sorrow  of  parting 
with  noble  sons,  when  they  went  to  the  foreign  field  ; 
and  of  waiting  long,  even  till  death,  before  greeting 
the  two  that  laid  down  their  lives  for  Jesus.  If  she 
had  not  been  in  fullest  accord  with  them  regarding  the 
great  object  of  their  mission,  we  had  never  seen  the 
thirty  published  letters  of  Rev.  Walter  M.  Lowrie, 
addressed  to  his  mother  from  the  land  of  Sinim. 

We  could  not  witness  the  breaking  of  so  many 
ties,  the  interruption  of  ail  these  Christian  labors,  and 
feel  no  pangs.  We  had  great  joy  while  they  lasted, 
and  God  meant  we  should  weep  when  they  came  to 
an  end.  But  thanks  to  His  name  that  tears  do  not 
drown  our  joys.  These  earthly  ties  were  not  broken 
till  they  had  answered  well  the  great  ends  for  which 
they  were  formed.  The  Christian  worker  and  sufferer 
found  rest  none  too  soon  for  her  own  relief  and  her 
Master's  glory.     She  hid  her  own  weakness  and  pains 


59 


while  there  was  need  of  her  ministry  at  home.  To 
his  manifest  joy,  she  accompanied  her  husband  in  his 
pilgrimage  through  its  last  and  most  painful  stages, 
and  lingered  only  a  short  time  after  his  departure. 
When  her  home  was  broken  up,  and  the  time  for 
her  final  suffering  had  fully  come,  she  found  all  the 
relief  and  help  and  consolation  that  could  be  given  In 
the  house  of  her  brother,  the  Rev.  Thomas  S.  Chllds, 
D.D.,  at  Norwalk,  Conn.  There  she  felt  the  furnace- 
heat  of  temptation  ;  and  there,  too,  she  found  beside 
her  one  like  unto  the  »Son  of  God.  She  saw  and  said 
that  "  God  makes  no  mistakes,"  in  dealing  with  his 
children.  She  learned  that  "  He  could  do  without 
her.''  And  with  an  earnest  rejection  of  all  dependence 
on  any  "  works  that  she  had  done  ; "  with  a  simple 
trust  In  Him  whose  "blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin," 
and  of  whom  she  could  testify,  "Jesus  is  precious, 
Jesus  is  glorious,"  she  entered  into  rest.  Jesus  came 
for  her ;  and  she  recognized  His  presence  and  glory? 
and  gladly  departed  to  be  forever  with  Him. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  trace  the  gracious  lineage 
of  Mrs.  Lowrie ;  to  mark  the  influences  that  con- 
trolled her  first  thoughts  on  religious  subjects ;  to 
observe  her  home  life  with  her  parents  and  her  hus- 
band ;  and  to  speak  of  the  methods  adopted  by  the 
Holy  Spirit  in  revealing  to  her  the  plague  of  her  heart, 
and  drawing  her  to  Christ,  and  maturing  her  for 
glory.  She  passed  through  all  the  stages  of  the  com- 
mon Christian  experience.  She  learned  to  be  still 
under  the  rod,  and  to  rejoice  in  the  possibility  and  fact 
of  assimilation  to  Jesus,  through  suffering.  And  just 
as  soon  as  the  work  of  His  grace  in  her  was  finished. 
He  took  her  to  Himself. 


6o 


In  view  of  her  character,  made  lovely  and  noble  by 
a  true  Christian  culture,  —  of  her  honorable  and  use- 
ful life,  —  and  of  her  blessed  departure  to  be  with 
Christ, — how  strong  is  the  consolation  afforded  her 
kindred  and  friends,  now  that  she  is  taken  from  them  ! 

But  what  if  all  such  consolation  were  denied  us? 
"  The  God  of  all  comfort"  lives,  and  He  is  our  refuge 
and  strength,  a  very  present  help  in  trouble.  With 
His  statutes  as  our  songs  in  the  house  of  our  pilgrimage, 
and  His  Spirit  dwelling  in  our  hearts  to  sanctif}^  and 
comfort  us,  we  may  follow  them  who  through  faith 
and  patience  inherit  the  promises,  until,  inheritors 
ourselves,  we  see  them  again  face  to  face,  and  share 
tlie  bliss  of  being  forever  with  the  Lord. 


EXTRACT   FROM   A   SERMON 


REV.  J.    K.  WIGHT,    OF   NEW   HAMBURGH,  N.Y. 


Having  spoken  of  the  character  and  life  of 
Mr.  Lowrie,  Mr.  Wight  said  : 

"  As  we  turn  to  consider,  for  a  few  moments,  the 
character  of  Mrs.  Lowrie,  we  notice  the  manifestation 
of  the  same  faith  and  grace  in  an  entirely  different 
sphere. 

"  In  her  we  see,  not  so  much  the  choice,  as  the 
hearty  acquiescence  in  the  choice,  of  her  husband. 
Not  only  was  there  no  repining  at  that  choice,  —  no 
longing  after  that  which  tliey  might  have  enjoyed,  but 
there  was  a  cheerful,  cordial  sympathy  with  him  in 
his  plans  ;  and  with  a  love,  not  merely  for  him,  but 
for  the  same  Master  and  the  same  cause,  she  sought  to 
carry  out  his  plans :  not  only  threw  no  obstacles  in 
the  way  of  their  accomplishment,  but  materially  as- 
sisted in  their  successful  prosecution,  even  w^hen  it 
involved  self-denial  on  her  part.  And  while  his  nature 
seemed  to  have  the  firmness  of  the  rock  and  the 
strength  of  iron,  it  was  her  mission  to  help  bring  out 


62 


in  him  and  to  manifest  herself  those  tender  sympathies, 
that  genial  sunshine  and  kindness,  which  drew  the 
hearts  of  many  missionary  families  around  the  world 
not  only  to  the  office,  but  to  the  home,  of  the  honored 
Secretar}'  and  his  wife. 

"  Whatever  her  duties  or  state  of  health,  she  had 
her  words  of  kindness,  her  sensible  advice,  or  her  quiet 
and  efficient  plans  of  assistance  for  all  who  sought  her 
aid  or  her  friendship. 

*'  It  was  wonderful  how  quickly  and  quietly  the 
wives  of  missionaries  felt  drawn  to  her  as  to  a  mother 
or  an  elder  sister.  There  was  no  assuming  of  position 
or  authority,  no  volunteering  of  advice,  but  she  showed 
herself  friendly  when  she  might  have  been  reserved  or 
have  excused  herself;  and  won,  without  apparently 
any  desire  for  it  but  to  serve  her  Master,  many  friends. 
Such  svmpathy  and  cordial  assistance  in  her  sphere, 
illustrate  most  admirably  the  zeal  and  valuable  help 
wdiich  woman  may  silently  though  efficiently  give  to 
the  cause  of  Christ 

"  Mrs.  Lowrie  was  also  an  efficient  and  judicious 
laborer  in  the  Church,  and  in  many  schemes  of  benev- 
olence. It  was  also  her  lot  to  sutier.  The  cheerful- 
ness and  heroism  with  which,  during  the  last  ten  years 
of  her  life,  she  bore  affliction,  from  which  from  the 
first  she  knew  there  was  no  relief,  were  remarkable. 
She  abated  nought  of  service  while  any  strength  re- 
mained. Her  place  in  the  Church  and  prayer-meeting 
was  filled,  when  it  was  an  astonishment  to  others 
how  she  could  be  there.  •  And  the  same  quiet  and 
friendly  smile  lighted  up  her  countenance  when  life 
was  fast  passing  away,  as  in  days  of  health  and  strength. 


63 


"  The  excellency  of  these  eminent  senants  of  God 
was  in  their  life  of  faith,  and  their  earnest  and  hearty 
consecration  of  themselves  to  the  service  of  God. 
They  were  indeed  placed  in  a  position  of  usefulness 
which  few  are  called  upon  to  occupy.  But  many 
might  hold  the  same  position  and  yet  not  have  the 
same  zeal  and  self-denial.  Their  life  was  not  the 
result  of  circumstances ;  but  we  have  not  a  doubt, 
though  not  familiar  with  their  inner  spiritual  history-, 
that  it  came,  as  with  the  cloud  of  witnesses  who  have 
gone  before,  through  faith  in  the  promises  of  God, 
which  lifted  them  above  liv^ing  for  the  present,  —  a 
faith  which  was  nourished  by  prayer,  and  resulted  in 
a  complete  consecration  of  all  that  they  had  —  life, 
ser\'ice,  and  means —  to  the  cause  of  Christ." 


CHANT. 


S 


i^: 


ii^ 


* 


ISe! 


._G- 


s 


^ 


«:^ 


--'^ 


'GO- 


-*■ 


:g=l 


SSlgiEi 


I 


"Abide  with  us,  for  it  is  toward  evening,  and  the  day  is  far  spent." 

Abide  with  me  :  fast  falls  the  'even-tide ; 
The  darkness  deepens  :  Lord,  with  'me  abide. 
When  other  helpers  fail,  and  'comforts  flee, 
Help  of  the  helpless,  oh,  abide  with  me. 

Swift  to  its  close  ebbs  out  life's  'little  day ; 
Earth's  joys  grow  dim  ;  its  glories  'pass  away  ; 
Change  and  decay  in  all  around  I  see  ; 

0  Thou,  who  changest  not,  abide  with  me. 

1  need  Thy  presence  every  'passing  hour  ; 

What  but  Thy  grace  can  foil  the  'tempter's  power  ? 
Who,  hke  Thyself,  my  guide  and  'stay  can  be  .'' 
Throuofh  cloud  and  sunshine,  Lord,  abide  with  me. 


65 


I  fear  no  foe  with  Thee  at  'hand  to  bless  ; 
Ills  have  no  weight,  and  tears  no  'bitterness  ; 
Where  is  death's  sting  ?  where,  grave,  thy  'victory  ? 
I  triumph  still,  if  Thou  abide  with  me. 

Hold  Thou  Thy  cross  before  my  'closing  eyes  ; 
Shine  through  the  gloom  and  point  me  'to  the  skies  ; 
Heaven's  morning  breaks,  and  earth's  vain  'shadows  flee 
In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me.     Amen. 


t 


^f;^: 


S^a'C'. 


w^S^V's^^-t*"' 


f^^^l^% 


i  ;-<■-: 


Ji^ 


.  %^^^' 
^r^.  r  ^ 


^  i' 


^H' 


n 


^•v*?^i>^-'r^^'^-^ 


-^'ti' 


'^,-tv  /,r>:i^'    > 


